When in Exile
by K. Ashley
Summary: After the Second Wizarding War, Draco Malfoy, like so many other young Death Eaters, has been sentenced to one year conditional exile to the Muggle world. Stripped of his wand, forbidden to use magic, cast off from everything and everyone he knows, Draco must survive a Muggle existence or submit to a life sentence in Azkaban.
1. Public Transportation

Draco Malfoy groaned inwardly as the large Muggle woman sidled into the seat next to him, her rounded elbows nudging him repeatedly as she adjusted her skirt and tried unsuccessfully to tuck her oversized handback into the little net basket on the seat in front of her. Draco squeezed as closely as he could to the window, his forehead pressed against the cold glass as his silver-gray eyes stared dully at the pavement below.

Of all the Muggle institutions he'd been forced to endure over the first three months of his exile, public transportation had to be the worst. The filth, the smells, the greasy handprints smeared over every inch of space made him gag, let alone being forced to endure their warm, sweaty bodies pressed against him every second. He closed his eyes and wished for autumn to hurry, for the heat wave to break and send him the chill, steel clouds he'd grown so accustomed to under the constant presense of Lord Voldemort's Dementors.

"Oof, sorry dear," the large woman panted when she elbowed him hard in the ribs. Draco didn't even look at her, and gritted his teeth when she patted his arm with her beefy hand. "Off to school, are you?" Her cheerful voice cut through him and he pursed his lips angrily as he turned a disdainful glare on her. She gestured at the crumpled pamphlet he had clutched in his hand, emblazoned with the gaudy crest of Mumford College.

After the Second Wizarding War, when Lord Voldemort had fallen and wizarding society reeled with the remnants of fear and mistrust left in the Dark Lord's wake, Draco had been sentenced, like so many other young Death Eaters, to a one year conditional exile from the wizarding world. The exile meant complete removal from magical society, forfeiting his wand, his right to perform magic, his ties to friends and family, and being forced to live a life without magic, moving among the Muggles he'd been conditioned his whole life to hate.

The foolish idea was that being immersed in Muggle society and forced to survive just like them would foster a sense of compassion for non-magical people, a deeper understanding of their plight. He was expected to treat them as equals, to make _friends_ even, and thereby earn back his right to the use of magic. That was the condition of his exile. So long as he could behave himself and survive without magic for just one year, he would be allowed back into wizarding society and reissued his wand.

But, if he made one wrong move, he would be permanently banished and banned from magic under pain of a life sentence in Azkaban. Already he thought he might prefer Azkaban to this. For three months, Draco had lived among these sodding creatures undetected - namely because he had spent much of that time locked in his little flat and refusing to participate. Unfortunately, last week he had received official notice from the Ministry of Magic that he had been enrolled at Mumford College as a first year student. He was to be studying "social work," whatever that meant, and he was expected to attend and pass all of his first year courses in order to gain readmittance into magical society.

So, here he was, crammed between a window and a fat woman, on his way to college. Despite the fact that he hadn't answered her question, the woman prattled on and on about her fond memories of college life, stopping only when the crowded bus jerked to a halt and she got off. Relieved to be rid of her, Draco stretched his long legs under the seat in front of him, reached his arms toward the ceiling, and closed his eyes as he rolled his head slowly around, enjoying the cracking of his stiff neck.

He drew in a deep breath through his nose, and was startled by a lovely scent - something like flowers and spices. His eyes shot open to find the fat woman had been replaced by a young woman about his age. Her russet hair fell in pleasant waves over her shoulders, and her eyes were a startling shade of green. She busied herself tucking a much more reasonably-sized bag into the net, then placing headphones over her ears, leaning back, and closing her eyes. Draco could just hear the faint music issuing from her headphones, and he silently rejoiced that at least he wouldn't be forced to endure another chatterbox.

He turned his gaze back to the passing landscape, leaning his forehead once more against the glass, and did his best to ignore the delicious smell of his new neighbor.

* * *

She had intended to go to sleep, her favorite way to pass the time on any long trip, lulled by the steady drumbeat of her favorite rock band and the swaying of the bus. Today, however, Greer found herself distracted by the young man sitting next to her. For one thing, she noted that they seemed to have a common destination - the very same Mumford College pamphlet that she had carefully tucked into her bag was also clutched in his hand. For another thing, there was something about him that made her skin prickle. Not like nerves or butterflies or any other of the expressions used to describe one's feeling in the presence of someone attractive. No, this was something different, something which unnerved her. It almost felt as if his very skin was emitting some low voltage, causing the fine hairs on her arm to stand on end.

She studied him discreetly, the way she studied everyone she found interesting. Her fingers itched to retrieve the small notebook she kept in her bag, to scribble notes and thoughts and memories she didn't want to fade. Bits of sentences were already forming in her mind, begging to be written down. _...sunlight blazing against white-blond hair... face turned determinedly away... most unwelcoming aura... the intricate black lines of a sinister tattoo..._

The tattoo was certainly interesting. She turned her head just a bit to get a better look at it - a black skull with a serpent curling out of its mouth, emblazoned aross the pale smooth skin of his inner forearm. Suddenly, his head snapped toward her and he pulled impulsively at his sleeve, covering the tattoo and frowning at her. How did he know she'd been looking? She managed a small smile, then turned her eyes to the grimy seat back in front of her, blushing. She hated being caught studying someone. People generally didn't understand the innate curiosity that came with having an investigative mind. She hoped that in pursuing a degree in journalism, she would meet others like her.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him glare at her and then return to the window, still tugging at his sleeve. Greer took a deep breath and exhaled, laughing inwardly at herself. She didn't even know his name, but she already knew she'd found a good story.


	2. A Dorm and a Dork

"Bloody hell," Draco murmured as he stood in the doorway of what had to be the tiniest room he had ever seen. To his left was a blank expanse of block wall, painted white and gleaming with noticeable humidity. There stood a tiny bed, one tall chest of drawers, and a little half table that tried but failed to look like a desk. To his right were duplicates of bed, drawers and desk. But _that_ wall...

Draco entered the room and set his trunk on the bed to the left. His steely eyes raked the opposite wall incredulously. An oversized poster emblazoned with the words "Magic: The Gathering" dominated the center of the wall. It was surrounded by a mismatched assortment of posters featuring dragons, knights with long swords, odd runes, and several scantily clad, busty women wearing absurd pointed elf ears. Draco raked a hand through his silvery hair and moved closer to inspect the disaster of artwork, when a voice behind him made him jump. His wand hand shot instinctively to his pocket, but found nothing.

He turned to find a very short, skinny lad with brown hair and a smattering of angry red pimples across his face, smiling at him from the doorway. "Hi there, you must be Draco?" He pronounced it _Drah-co._ When Draco didn't respond, the boy came closer and held out a hand. "I'm Rusty. Well, Russell Andrew Bowers, Jr. But everyone calls me Rusty."

Draco looked from the pimpled face to the outstretched hand and back again, dragging his eyes slowly back up in a way meant to offend. Rusty lowered his hand awkwardly and stood for a moment in silence. He glanced at the posters and then smiled bravely back at Draco.

"You like them?" he asked. Draco snorted, but Rusty didn't seem to hear as he went on, "Yeah, it's quite a collection, right? I've been playing Magic since it dropped in '93. Do you play?"

"Do I _play_ magic?" Draco asked, his voice oozing venom. If only his wand hadn't been confiscated, he'd love to show this sodding Muggle just how he preferred to play with magic.

"Yeah, Magic: The Gathering," Rusty went on. He turned proudly back to his posters. "I was champ back in my hometown. I heard there's a club here at Mumford, think I might join. D&D, too. Do you play Dungeons and Dragons, Drah-co?"

"It's pronounced _Draco."_

"Oh. Draco."

Again, Rusty stared at him in awkward silence. Suddenly his eyes fell and his cheeks flushed behind his acne. "Yeah, I guess you don't really look like a D&D sort of guy," he said quietly. "Probably more of an athlete or something, yeah?"

"Something, yeah," Draco replied.

"Well, that's cool. That side's yours, well, obviously, and this side's mine. Dorm rules are posted in the corridor. Just the usual stuff, no alcohol, no drugs, stuff like that, you know. Girls aren't really supposed to be in the dorm, but guys sneak them in a lot, you know, I've heard anyway." Rusty paused and looked hopefully at his new roommate. "You hungry?" he asked.

Draco was about to say _no_ when his growling stomach gave him away. "Yeah, sure, I guess," he said. Rusty smiled.

* * *

Greer tapped her pencil lazily on the table, her eyes combing the busy cafeteria for something interesting to write about. Unfortunately, several hundred college students queueing up for food didn't really scream headliner. She looked down at her course schedule for the millionth time, just to make sure she had it memorized properly. Classes started tomorrow, and she was slated for General Science at 9:30 in the morning. What on earth General Science had to do with a journalism degree she couldn't figure, but apparently it was required of all students.

Upon arriving at Mumford that afternoon, she had checked into her dormitory and found to her dismay that her assigned roommate had withdrawn at the last minute, giving her a room all to herself. Greer had been looking forward to having a roommate - she had hoped it would be kind of an instant friend. Still, she was sure she'd have plenty of opportunities to meet people in classes tomorrow. For tonight, she resigned herself to a lonely dinner of pizza and french fries at the student union cafeteria.

Greer began to scribble mundane notes on her paper - how long the bus ride had taken, the sparse details of her dorm room, the soggy crust of her pizza which left much to be desired. She sighed and put her pencil down, her fingers still twitching with the impulse to write, but her brain maddeningly devoid of anything worth writing. She thought of the young man on the bus - the blond who had sat beside her for nearly five hours without so much as a hello. She picked up her pencil and wrote:

 _In the wide world of public transportation, I have noted two very distinct types of traveler: the talkative busybody and the reclusive cold-shoulder. Today, I encountered the latter in its purest form. He was noticeably tall, though seated, with porcelain skin and a slick of white-blond hair - not one out of place. His disdain for idle chatter was palpable, an almost suspicious desire to be left alone. When he caught me eyeing his tattoo - I can only guess he saw my reflection in the window - his reaction was one of frantic secrecy. What made him hide it so quickly? Is it a mark of gang affiliation, perhaps? A memento of time spent incarcerated? The world may never know..._

She was interrupted when someone collided with the back of her chair, sending her slamming into the table, causing her plate to flip and soggy pizza to spill down her front. She leapt to her feet with a gasp, hurriedly grabbing a napkin and wiping at the hopeless red stain down the front of her white t-shirt.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," muttered the mousy, pimpled young man who had bumped into her. His own pizza was still balanced on the tray in one hand, while his other hand tried awkwardly to wipe the pizza sauce from her shirt. His fingers grazed closer and closer to her chest, and she bowed away from him with a short laugh, waving his hand away with a kind smile.

"It's all right, really," she said, laughing again at the way his face reddened around a flock of pimples. "I think it looks better this way, don't you?" she asked with a grin. The boy smiled sheepishly and extended his own pizza toward her.

"Please, have mine," he stammered. Greer shook her head, giving him another kind smile.

"No worries, I've eaten enough," she said. There was a pause in which the mousy boy stared at her as though he'd never seen a woman before, his mouth slightly open and his brown eyes compulsively flicking toward her chest. Greer found his nerdiness endearing.

"Sit with me?" she asked, gesturing toward the table. He nodded enthusiastically, slapping his tray onto the table and sitting across from her. She folded her arms protectively over her pizza-stained chest and nodded. "So, is this how you always go about meeting girls?" she teased.

He reddened even deeper. "No! No, it was an accident, once in a lifetime, I mean - no," he faltered, smiling down at his plate.

"I'm Greer," she said, holding out a hand. He shook it.

"Rusty," he said. Then his eyes widened suddenly and he looked around frantically. "I almost forgot, my roommate, where is he?" He scanned the cafeteria and then smiled and waved enthusiastically at someone behind Greer. "Draco!" he called. Then, "DRACO!" Several passersby stared as he hollered over the din of the crowd.

Greer turned to see who he was calling to, and her eyes met the cold gray glare of the mysterious blond from the bus. He froze mid-step, clutching a tray of spaghetti, his stare cutting through her like a knife. Greer felt her breath catch in her chest, and she turned back to Rusty, uncomfortably aware of the flush creeping up her neck and onto her face.

In a few moments, the blond was sat beside her, and Rusty was gleefully introducing them.

"Greer, this is my roommate, Draco," he was careful to pronounce it _DRAY-co_ , "and Draco, this is Greer. I ruined her shirt." Greer laughed and turned to face Draco.

"Hello," she said pleasantly, her green eyes sparkling, "I think we've met before. Well, sort of."

Draco nodded curtly, then tucked into his spaghetti without a word. Greer looked inquisitively at Rusty, who mouthed _"He's a bit shy."_

The remainder of the evening was spent happily enough. Greer enjoyed Rusty's company, and while it couldn't be said that Draco's presence was exactly pleasant, she was deeply intrigued by the way he kept pulling at the sleeve that covered that strange tattoo, and by that weird electric tingling she could feel emanating from his skin.


	3. Dinner for Two

Rusty didn't shut up about Greer for the rest of the night. Nor the next day. Nor the day after that. It was as if he had never spoken to a girl before, and Draco couldn't help but be both amused and irritated by this pathetic display.

"I mean, she was just so nice about the whole thing," Rusty went on, three days after the pizza incident. "Most women would have been outraged. But Greer's got class, you know?"

"Mmmhmm," Draco muttered, doing his best to complete a boring bit of homework from some Muggle history class. He had to admit, it was impressive how the Muggles found so many ways to explain things without magic. He was currently writing an essay on the ancient engineering behind the Great Pyramids in Egypt, and was boggled by the theories Muggle anthropologists and archaeologists had come up with. Poor sods, they were way overshooting the mark - a pyramid really wouldn't have been that difficult for an ancient Egyptian wizard.

"What do you think? Draco?" The sound of his own name pulled him from his essay, and he realized Rusty had asked him something.

"Huh?" He said. Rusty rolled his eyes.

"I said I think I'm going to ask Greer out," he repeated exasperatedly. "What do you think?"

Draco blinked. "I think... what?"

"Look, I know I'm not the hottest match in the box," Rusty said, pacing up and down the tiny dorm room. "But we had real chemistry the other night, right? Me and Greer?"

"If by 'chemistry' you mean she didn't murder you for ruining her blouse, then sure," Draco said lazily, turning back to his essay. Suddenly, he couldn't quite remember what he had wanted to write. The only word that came to mind was _Greer_.

"She was just so easy to talk to, you know? So sweet and kind and, let's be honest here, she was bloody _gorgeous_ ," Rusty went on, wringing his hands in an agony of admiration.

Draco thought for a moment, reflecting on Greer's russet hair and glowing green eyes. He frowned and cleared his throat. "I don't know about _gorgeous_ ," he said, willing himself to forget those eyes. "She has freckles."

Rusty stopped pacing and made a face at Draco. _"'She has freckles_?' That's all you can say? Come on Draco, I know you've probably dated a few decent chicks in your day, but you can't say Greer's not amazing. Her hair? Her eyes? Her... you know..." Rusty motioned to his own chest emphatically. "She's a ten, no way you can deny it."

Draco leaned back in his chair and stretched, allowing his mind to wander over the memory of Greer's hair and eyes and... you know... but he shook his head. She was a Muggle. Pure and simple. Sure, she might be easy on the eyes, but her blood was as filthy and diseased as all the rest, and there was no way Draco was going to look past that.

"So, ask her out and shut up about it," he snapped, leaning back into his work. He could feel Rusty staring at the back of his head, so he turned around. His roommate looked to be in pure agony.

"But _how_ , Draco? How do I ask her out? I've never, you know, I mean... I've never asked a girl out before," Rusty said, his eyes dropping, his face reddening. Draco heaved a mighty sigh. He could see now that this was to be his punishment. His great tribulation, the pennance for his crimes, was to be the sodding relationship mentor of this pathetic Muggle.

"Gee, I dunno, how about _'Hi, Greer, how about you and I get a drink and then you can let me touch your-'_ "

"Ha. Ha. I'm serious, man. Help me." Draco frowned and studied his roommate. Rusty just looked so pathetic, standing there in front of his Magic: The Gathering poster, his face covered in pimples, begging for dating advice. Maybe the Ministry was right - maybe this was the way to learn compassion for Muggles.

* * *

It was raining that Friday afternoon, as Greer made her way back to the dormitory after suffering through another tedious math class. While Mumford College wasn't exactly huge, it was still a decent trek from one side of campus to the other, and by the time Greer reached her dormitory, she was soaked to the bone.

Humming her favorite tune, she changed into a dry pair of jeans and a fresh blue t-shirt, and combed through her long auburn hair, touseling with her fingers it to help it dry. She was just considering what to do for dinner when a knock on her door made her jump.

She peered through the peephole and saw the flushed face of Rusty Bowers. She opened the door with a warm smile. "Rusty, hi! Please, come in," she said politely, stepping back to allow him entry.

He stepped gingerly into the room with the air of someone visiting a sacred landmark. His eager brown eyes flitted nervously around the room, taking in every detail, pausing overlong on the bra she had carelessly flung over the back of her chair. Following his gaze, Greer quickly grabbed the bra and stuffed it hastily under her pillow.

"So nice to see you, Rusty," she said, then paused, prompting him to speak with a nod and a smile.

"Oh, uh, yeah, so nice," he said nervously. He ran a hand through his brown hair and sniffed. His eyes moved to the pillow under which she had hidden her bra.

"So... how can I help you?" Greer asked, doing her best not to laugh at his adorable nerves.

"What? Oh, I came to, uh, ask if you, you know, if you like food, then, maybe did you want to, you know, it doesn't have to be today, just sometime, you know, if you're hungry-"

"Rusty, are you trying to ask me out to dinner?" Greer finished for him. He flushed and shrugged.

"Yes," he said. "Would you like to go out with me?"

A flood of thoughts raced through Greer's mind. She was not at all attracted to Rusty, but she wouldn't mind having him as a friend. However, she could tell he wanted more than that. How could she accept his invitation without leading him on?

"That sounds like fun," she said, then added quickly, "Will Draco be joining us?"

Rusty paled. "Draco?"

"Yes, Draco. Your roommate?" Greer prompted, nodding. She suddenly felt excited at the prospect of seeing this enigmatic Draco again.

"Well, no," Rusty replied, his eyes dropping to the floor. "No, he isn't coming." There was an awkward silence in which Rusty avoided eye contact and Greer felt a sudden deflating somewhere around her stomach. She desperately wanted to see Draco again, to learn more about him, to figure him out. But here was Rusty, nervous and sweating in her doorway, and she didn't want to let him down.

"Okay, Rusty," she said kindly. "Want to get some pizza?"

He laughed.


	4. The Bloody Mark

Draco sat bolt upright, drenched in sweat. His heart was racing and his Dark Mark prickled eerily. Another nightmare. He had suffered from them ever since the Battle of Hogwarts - ever since he'd had to witness his classmates dying at the hands of his own faction.

Struggling to catch his breath, he looked over at Rusty's bed. His roommate was sleeping soundly, having come back hours earlier practically floating over his dinner with the ginger Muggle girl. Draco could tell easily enough from the details that this was a purely one-sided romance - Rusty had admitted that Greer had asked if Draco would be joining them, that she had insisted on paying for her own meal, and that his impulsive attempt at stealing a kiss was met with a firm offering of a handshake instead.

"Still," he had swooned, "it was a step in the right direction, yeah?"

Draco rubbed his tired eyes, his skin still clammy, and decided sleep was out of the question. He needed air. Dressing silently, he crept from the dormitory and made his way into the cool night air, headed in no particular direction. His mind swam with memories of what seemed like another life. He saw his mother's pained expression, watching as the Dark Lord branded her only son's arm. He saw his father's agony as he suffered under Lord Voldemort's wrathful disdain. He saw his friends, remembered better times when they had laughed and joked in the Slytherin common room, not a care in the world.

His wandering feet took him around the student commons, past the girls' dormitories, across the football pitch, and down to the pathetic little pond that passed as "Lake Mumford." He sat in the soft grass at the water's edge, pulled back his sleeve and peered at the ugly Dark Mark which covered the soft flesh of his forearm.

Sometimes he swore he could still feel it burning, still feel the unpleasant fire beneath his skin and see the edges of the mark darken, as though Lord Voldemort were summoning his Death Eaters once more. He knew it was all in his head - after all, the Dark Lord was gone, his senior Death Eaters dead, disbanded and disgraced once and for all, and he and the other young recruits were left to suffer the agony of exile among these subhumans called Muggles.

Without thinking, Draco raked his fingernails over the Dark Mark, as though trying to peel it off. His eyes welled hot with tears as he scratched again, feeling nothing but seething hatred for Lord Voldemort and for himself. Within a minute the tears came freely, a ragged sob heaving from his chest as he looked at his bloody fingernails. He had achieved nothing. The mark was still there, laughing up at him from under his torn flesh.

* * *

Greer sat beside the window in her little solitary room, scribbling furiously in her notebook. A half smile decorated her face as she wrote the painful details of her dinner with Rusty - poor, sweet, absolutely platonic Rusty.

She had enjoyed their outing, enjoyed his endearing nerdiness and his quirky sense of humor. She felt that she had found a good friend in Rusty - but it pained her to know that he wanted to be more than that. Earlier that night, when he had walked her back to her dorm, she had been mid-sentence, thanking him for a fun evening, when he had suddenly lunged at her, his eyes squeezed shut and his lips puckered comically. Reflexively, she put her hand up, catching him in the chest and holding him firmly at arm's length. After an awkward handshake and many mumbled apologies, Rusty had smiled warmly and promised to see her soon.

She chuckled softly, recording this awkward scene in her notebook, when a movement outside caught her attention. Someone was walking quickly down the sidewalk - an odd sight at this time of night. She watched lazily as the lone walker approached, but gasped when she recognized the white-blond hair and sharp profile of Rusty's roommate, Draco. Greer watched him as he passed, and frowned when his face passed under the dull glow of the lamp post. He looked painfully upset.

Her curiosity piqued. Who was this Draco Malfoy? So far, all she could gather was that he was sullen, rude, secretive and startlingly handsome. And then there was that strange electric current she felt emanating from his skin. Where was he going so late at night? Why was he so upset?

Before she knew what she was doing, Greer had dressed in jeans and a black sweater, slipped her notebook and pencil into her back pocket, and headed out the door. The sidewalk was empty when she emerged from her dormitory. A chill breeze fluttered her hair, and she hugged herself as she headed in the direction Draco had been going.

It wasn't long before she saw him, his hair seeming to glisten in the moonlight. He was sat on the grass, knees pulled up to his chest, sobbing into his folded arms. Greer paused and watched him for a long moment, unsure what to do. _Turn around and walk away,_ her brain told her. But her heart felt the deep sadness coming from this stranger and urged her forward. Within moments, she stood beside him.

"Are you okay?" she asked. Startled, Draco leapt to his feet, backing away from her a few paces and wiping savagely at his tears with the heel of his hand. Greer could see blood on his forearm and gasped. "Draco, what happened?" she breathed, gesturing toward his arm. He glared hatefully at her and yanked his sleeve over his bloody tattoo. Greer noted the blood on his fingers and put two and two together.

"Draco, were you... are you okay?" she asked again, very gently. Of all the things she had expected from this blond enigma, self-harm was not one of them. Draco sneered at her, still clutching his arm.

"What the hell do you want, Muggle?" he spat venomously. Immediately, his eyes widened in panic. He turned away as though embarrassed, as if he had said something wrong.

"What did you call me?" Greer said, stepping toward him. He didn't answer, kept his back to her, his shoulders hunched defensively. "Look, I don't mean to intrude, but I think you should get help. The school has a phone number that will connect you with a counselor, totally anonymous, and-"

Draco spun around and advanced on her menacingly, closing the gap between them until he was looking down on her. "I don't need your help. Leave me alone." His voice was low and threatening. Greer gulped but stood her ground.

"Look," she said, trying to keep the nerves out of her voice, "I can see you're upset. And I know we don't really know each other. But I can't just walk away and let you hurt yourself."

A long moment passed in which Greer held her breath and Draco studied her through narrowed eyes. Finally, he heaved a great sigh and rolled his eyes, backing away a pace, his arms dropping to his sides.

"I'm not going to off myself if that's what you think," he said sullenly.

Greer let her breath out slowly. "Well, that's good," she said, offering a brave smile. "Rusty would be devastated."

Draco rolled his eyes again and sat down, facing the black water, his back to her. Greer stood uncertainly, watching him. She knew she should walk away. But the pain in his eyes was so raw, so gut-wrenching, that she couldn't bring herself to move. After a while, he turned his head and shot her a withering glance. "If you're going to hang around, you might as well have a seat," he muttered, turning his steely eyes back to the water.

Greer took that as an invitation and sat gingerly beside him, tucking her arms under her knees. They sat in silence for a long time, the night breeze ruffling their hair. Finally, Draco spoke.

"You don't want to know me, Greer," he said coldly, still not looking at her. "I'm not a good person. I've done terrible things. I'm dangerous."

Greer couldn't help but snort. "Well, that's a bit melodramatic, don't you think?" she said playfully. "You're only, what, eighteen? You can't have done that many terrible things."

"Can't I?" he asked, turning a hard stare on her. Their eyes locked and again she saw the pain, the anguish. Greer swallowed. She didn't know what to say. "You don't know anything about me," Draco said finally, turning away again.

Greer sighed and shook her head, equal parts frustrated and intrigued. "You don't know anything about me, either," she said, standing and brushing off the seat of her jeans. She pulled her notebook out of her pocket, tore out a blank page and scribbled her phone number. She folded it and dropped it in the grass beside him. "In case you ever need to talk," she said, and walked away.


End file.
